My Home, Romasanta: A UkraineAmerica AU Story
by Akimi Kono
Summary: Esfir moves from the Ukraine to America, living in a quiet neighborhood. Her already upheaved life is suddenly thrown into unbalance and chaos as someone moves in next door. The neighbor? Romasanta, of course! R
1. Home

3/3/10 - 3/4/10

"Love ya, babe." my brother said in a jock tone, giving one of his fake winks and pointing at me with his index finger whilst his thumb was pointing up. I shuddered.

"Ya, babe," I replied, giving a slight wave and turning away. Our joking remarks weren't really accepted here, but it was fun. Except in public, when Mom scolded us and then we began to act like that. They seriously thought we were siblings in love. Kinda creepy.

I turned, walking down the sidewalk. The bright day made me feel alive! At least more so. It was so pretty here. I wished I could just soak in the day like a sponge does water and let it seep into my bones. But then again, maybe my bones couldn't handle all of the beauty. Recalling the lesson of bone structure and red-blood cells, I frowned. I wanted red-blood cells to come out of my spine, not sunshine.

I walked down the sidewalk, brushing my hands along the black wooden fence to the left of me. I knew the folks that lived here. They were from Germany. They spoke German, and very little English, so we barely saw them. I occasionally heard the husband singing in his thick voice. A voice that carried high up into the air, all the way across the neighborhood to my bedroom.

As the fence ended, a yard began. Filled with flowers and bushes, I skipped past it. The people whom lived here were from Ireland. Their accents made them hard to understand, but their daughter was my friend. A very beautiful and talented girl, Aimee was the most popular of us two. Crossing between the yard and the bushes, I made it to the third house on this side of the walkway. A couple lived here. I believed their names to be Catharine and Joseph. They had tried to have a baby for the past three years with no success. They were the newest people in the neighborhood.

Because of slight depression in both, we didn't see much of them. Once I saw the hunched shadow of the woman, her long brown hair draping over her shoulders, in the window out front that led to the bedroom. As I looked again, she was gone and the curtains were ruffling closed.

Finally, the last house here, the one on the corner, was ours. I had never lived on a corner lot until we moved here. The whitewash fence was old and beginning to fall apart. A few planks were missing. It didn't bother me considering the fence just started suddenly and didn't complete an entire perimeter, in addition to only coming up to my waist. I turned the corner and walked down until there was a break in the fence. I turned and walked up the cement path, up the narrow steps to the front door, which was painted a dark burgandy red. The golden knocked shone in the late afternoon light.

I loved home. This was home and I loved it. I turned the silver knob and pushed the door open, stepping into a cold house. The air conditioner had been going on high since the first day of summer, and during the night when it was 40 or so degrees. As I came in, I heard the shouting from upstairs.

"Esfir! Close the door! We are not paying for the neighborhood to be cooled!"

My father's voice echoed downstairs into the lobby area where I slipped off my shoes and closed the door. I knew my father would be waiting for me since he had woken up. I crossed behind the stairs to the kitchen, gathering the tea pot and cup onto a wooden tray and walked back out and up the stairs. I turned right and walked down the hall to the single door. I nudged it open with my right elbow and stepped inside.

My father lie on his bed, sweat dripping down his forehead. The fan, in addition to the air conditioner, was blowing directly on him. He sighed, turning his head to me.

"Esfir," he began in his accent, "what took you so long? I have been waiting for five hours."

"I am sorry, father," I began, crossing the room and setting the tray on the low stand, "I have been in school. Please do forgive me."

"Yes, yes, well ... " He coughed into his hand, rolling onto his side, "Чай."

I nodded, pouring hot tea into the cup. I handed it to him, "Father," he looked up, "I will be downstairs. If you need anything, please shout."

"As if I need to be told to do so!" He coughed as he raised the cup to his lips. I turned and walked out of the room and down the stairs. As I reached the ground, I looked at the front door. I could go out and sit on the porch until night. I could keep the door open, should I need to hear Father. The cold cement seemed to tempting. So inviting. So ...

I shook my head. My father needed me here. Once outside, I would tempted to run. Run away back home. Back to the Ukraine. Back to my family.

Back to my husband.

Bottom of Form 1


	2. New Neighbor

3/5/10

I sat in the silence at the kitchen table, reading through the Russian newspaper that we specially ordered. I browsed through the sections until I found the Obituaries. I wanted to make sure my husband had not passed whilst I was gone.

I saw the our old neighbors had passed, within days of each other. And the Lyzhychkos, a pair I had known when I was 3, had died as well. All four of the people had been at least 80. I wrote down the dates of birth and death, the places where and their names, as I could not cut out the article. I stood as I heard a rustling from the stairs. I thought it was Father coming down for something I hadn't heard.

I rushed out of the kitchen to the front door to see it swinging open. I had closed it, locked it as well, but there it was. Open. I felt fear grow inside of me at the thought of someone creeping around the house. But whom? Everyone here kept to themselves.

"Ey," I called out, wary of anything moving, "Hello?" There was no answer. Perhaps no one was here.

I crossed to the front door and stepped out, suddenly chilled. I hugged my arms and looked around. It was silent outside.

I could see the clouds moving along the sky like snails along the sidewalk. Slowly and easily, without a certain place to go. It would be fine if I stood out here. Father was asleep now, his tea cold, the fan going. He would be all right by himself. Just for a little while. The crisp air made me want to run around the block, sweating and panting. I wanted to experience life as I had back in the Ukraine. Meeting my husband, marrying him. Spending nights together awake, talking and laughing.

I sighed, shaking my head. Father had not enjoyed his company. He hated him. He had no reason to -- he was just like him, when he was younger! And mother had agreed. But even so ... I inhaled deeply, feeling my lungs expand with oxygen. I loved America. I did. But I just missed ...

The slight movement of something across the street caught my attention. I saw that the house that had been empty for some time now had a white truck parked in the driveway. Across the side was written something in Spanish. A large, red print I couldn't read, but I knew what it meant, as we had the same one. Only the words were written in Russian.

Перемещение Грузовика(1)

Moving Truck.

Moving of the Lorry, really. That was ours. His was, Movimiento de Camión.

I was silent as two men in black outfits with baseball caps on jumped from the front of the truck and walked around back. They began to move everything into the house. A new neighbor? How exciting. I walked forward slightly, watching the commotion. Had the truck been there when I had gotten home? Or was it there since I got the tea for Papa? Or was it before the door opened?

It was then that I remembered the door. I turned and stared in. Was Papa all right? My father might have been a bit crude and rough, but he was kind to me most of the time.

"Привет(2)?" I called out, waiting for an answer. Instantly the door was slammed closed by some unseen force. I ran forward, "Эй(3)!" I shouted, pounding on the door. I heard snickering from the other side. "Впустите меня(4)!"

"No," was their reply with a slight accent.

I knew whom it was. The devil creature.

"Tomei!" I screamed, trying to use the best French accent I could, "You let me in!"

"No!"

I frowned deeply. Tommy (Tomei, as I pronounced) was our 6 year-old neighbor. Almost seven, he kept pointing out. He liked to play tricks on me. And this one was the cruelest yet. Locking me out of my own house! Did he know that Papa was just upstairs, listening? Perhaps not, as he wouldn't have stepped foot inside. He was afraid of him.

"Tomei," I replied as coolly as I could, "Please let me in. It is my house. Not yours."

"Too bad, mon amie."

"I am not your ahmee," I replied, upset. "Let me in!"

"Amie," he said, "Friend. And I know -- amour."

Amour. Amour. I knew this word. Beast?

"Tomei -- " I began to raise my fist when I heard the wheezing cough from upstairs. It was loud and strong as always. Then I heard clattering. What was happening? I could imagine the shuffling of feet down the hall to the stairs. Was it my mind or was I really hearing it?

"Esfir?" came a deep voice, "Is that you?"

"Papa!" I shouted through the door.

"Stop making all that racket! Or I'll come down and I'll -- I'll .... " he began to cough. At this I heard Tommy scream. I heard the door unlock and then it was thrown open. The boy ran out and straight into my chest in such a way that I fell back onto the porch. He let out another high-pitched scream, looking over his shoulder into the house. He must have been scared of my father because he jumped to his feet and ran down the steps, all the while screaming.

I sat up and rubbed the back of my head. Where had he come from? The sudden action had made me a bit sick. I wasn't used to that activity. The only big thing to happen in the past 16 years I was here was when Mama and Brother moved out.

"Creative differences", she had said whilst packing her bags. I watched from her bed as she threw in clothes, both hers and Brother's. Once all packed she headed downstairs for the front door, where Symon was waiting. I had only seen him on occasion after that, such as this morning. They didn't live too far away, but it seemed like an eternity to get to his house.

I stood as I saw Papa step down into the foyer, his eye squinted towards the front door. He muttered something and walked over.

"Esfir, stop fooling around! Did you know that every time you open this door, the temperature inside the house rises half a degree?" His voice was stern and upset. I shook my head and stared at the ground.

"I apologize, I did not mean to -- "

"Oh, but you did." His reply was quick. Quick enough to cut me off in my hurried speech, "And that's only when it's opened for less than a second. This door has been opened and shut repeatedly -- _repeatedly _-- for the past six minutes. Do you know what that costs?!"

"No, Papa." I said in a solemn voice. I was to be scolded.

"It costs a lot!" I knew he didn't know exactly the amount, but I was sure it was a lot. As he began to yell at me for the costs of heat, in which he never did once turn to close the door behind him, he looked over my shoulder towards the house across the street.

"What is that?" he asked almost in a curious way rather than demanding an answer. I glanced back even though I knew what he meant.

"Someone is moving in, Papa."

"I can see that!" He snapped, shooting a glare towards me. Pushing me to the side, he hobbled down the steps and across the path over the lawn. Once he reached the fence he stared out, his hand shading his face. I watched him as he began to cross over the sidewalk to the road. I wanted to tell him to be careful, but he had no reason to. Very few times did cars pass here, so it was no worry as he made his way to the second sidewalk. He was now facing the side of the house. He turned to his right and walked, turning, and approached the fenceless driveway.

I quietly watched from behind one of the tall posts holding up our porch roof, hugging onto the red wood tightly. My father walked around the driveway to the front door, which was hidden from view. I could see that the lawn man had come because the grass glistened in the sunlight and there were freshly planted flowers along the walls of the house.

I heard Papa's heavy knock echo back to me. I winced slightly at this. Papa could be so loud ... I heard the door open and then the soft conversation between the two as they struggled over the language barrier. What did Papa want with this man? Or woman ... ? It sounded like a man to me. But I could have been wrong, hiding behind the post and all.

Finally I heard my Papa laugh. Laugh! What a strange occurrence ... Then I heard him speaking English, and the man reply. I heard parts of their conversation .. Which went something like this:

"And you .. moving from Spain?"

"Yes," this was the new man, "I moved from there. I moved here ... I heard that it is a good neighborhood ... for people from foreign places."

"Yes, yes! Very good! I move here with daughter."

"Daughter ... ?" I heard his voice lower at this thought. I blushed as I pulled back to hide completely, standing straight and still, straining to listen. "I saw no one, sir."

"Ah, daughter is shy. Stupid, sometimes, too. No talk. No friends."

"Does she have boyfriend?"

"Married."

"Married?"

"Yes. Married." 

"Back in Russia?"

"Ukraine. We are Ukrainian." I could imagine Papa standing straight and pounding his chest with a fist, "We speak Russian, though."

"And your daughter ... she Ukrainian?"

"Yes. Esfir."

"Esfir?"

"Yes."

"Lovely name."

"Ahah," Papa laughed, "tell her!"

"I would. But .. "

"What?"

"I am new to here ... I need to ... to move in," he paused, "maybe daughter comes here?"

"Ah! You speak what you think. I like you."

Papa likes him? Ay-eii ... that could be bad. Was he ugly? Was he missing a leg? Did he limp or was he bald? Old?

"ESFIR!"

I jumped at this noise. I shuddered as I heard Papa mutter something then yell for me again. I did not want to go over there, but ...

"Esfir! Come here!"

I reluctantly walked down the steps and across our yard. Down the sidewalk and across the street until I met with the driveway. I glanced behind me at the house. I hadn't closed the door ... maybe Father wouldn't be too upset about it ... I ran up the driveway and around the path that lead up into the shaded area of the front porch. I stepped up to where Papa stood, his back to me. Finally he turned towards me, blocking any view inside.

"Yes, Papa?"

"Meet neighbor."

"Ah, all righ -- "

He stepped to the side. I expected to see an ugly, short man with a balding spot and a beard. But instead I saw a tall, muscular man with short, dark brown hair and bright blue eyes. I was silent as I looked up at him. He seemed to be the ideal person from Europe -- as he was from Spain. I did not say anything as he smiled.

"Esfir?" he asked, his voice carrying along beside me. I felt my face heat up again. I had not felt this way since I met my husband. I nodded dumbly.

"Y-Yes," I finally said, sticking my hand out. He shook it, smiling still.

"I am Manuel," he began, his voice making me hang on every word, "Manuel Romasanta."

.....

A/N: I hope you like it ... Trying my hardest!

(1): Moving of the Lorry, aka Moving Truck

(2): Hello? Lit. Greetings?

(3): Hey!

(4): Let me in!


	3. Sudden Death

3/16/10

----

I know that it might seem silly now, but I am sure that our neighbor, Romasanta, is quite the womanizer. I was too stunned when I met him to realize it, but now that I think about it ... He is everything someone could want. Luckily I am happily married. My husband is just back in Russia. And I am here in America. I am in love with my husband and happy with my life. But as soon as I met our neighbor, I felt ... drawn to him, if you will. Like a secret and invisible tug towards him. Though it is a bit embarrassing to say .. I wanted him.

I sat the table, trying to ignore this feeling. I didn't want to admit to myself that I was perhaps attracted to the man. I was in love with my husband, not him! But as I sat at the table, sipping tea, my mind began to wander and it ended up on him. I could see his face. Dark brown hair and bright blue eyes. He was very handsome. I felt my face heat up at this. No! I needed to think of ... think of what? As I thought more of Mr. Romasanta, I began to lose my memory of my dear husband. Soon I was so wrapped up in the thought of Manuel, I had neglected to hear my father. I snapped out of my day dream as I heard him shouting.

I jumped to my feet and ran to the stairs, looking up. "Papa?" There was no answer. What had he been screaming about? Did he fall? Images of my father on the ground in pain flashed through my mind. It felt like my heart was in my throat. I quickly grabbed onto the railing and ran up the stairs, "Papa!"

I turned and ran down the hall, bursting into his room. I look towards the bed, hoping he is lying there. The sheets are a mess and the comforter is pulled halfway off, but he is not there. I glanced up towards the window to see the white curtains blowing around. The window was opened. Impossible! Father never left it open, not with the fan and air conditioner on. As I opened my mouth, my eyes turned down and I noticed that there was something on the ground. My father.

I gasped, covering my mouth with my hands and stared. His crippled body was sprawled out on the ground, the comforter wrapped around his waist and ankles. His hands were clutched to his chest, his eyes were wide, his face was pale. His mouth was opened partially, like he had been in the middle of screaming. I could see blood trickling from the back of his head onto the ground, leaking around. A few drops dribbled across his hands and over his nose. I shrieked in horror, screaming. "Papa!"

As I ran to him, I got a sudden chill. Not from the fan blowing on me, nor from the open window. I felt like someone was there. Something evil. I dropped to my knees, collapsing in front of my father. "Papa!" I cried, grabbing onto his upper arm and staring at him. Tears rolled down my face as I screamed. What had happened? I placed my fingers on his throat, where I knew I should feel his pulse. I didn't. No heartbeat. I let out a gasping sob and dropped my head, pulling my hands to my chest and leaning over. I rest my chest against my thighs and sobbed.

Papa was dead.

.....

The police filled the house, murmuring quietly to themselves. I stood outside on the yard, hugging my arms to myself and staring at the ground. I was silent the entire time as the police walked in and out of the front door. I heard the chattering from the police car's radio and the buzzing from neighbors. I sighed and turned my face to the sky. How could it be so bright and blue when my father had just died? It betrayed me. I used to love the sky. I knew that if I looked at it, it was the same sky my husband was looking at. I could think of him, and he could think of me. But now I couldn't trust the sky. It didn't feel the same way as I did.

I inhaled shakily, turning my eyes towards the street. I wanted to run out there and get hit by a bus. I wanted to die. Papa was my only family. Yes, my brother and mother were near. But I couldn't ... Home was here. Temporarily. How come I felt like I needed I should go back to Russia, but could not leave this house to live with my family? I looked down at the ground and my feet. I wanted to go to sleep. Maybe this was all a horrible dream. A nightmare.

I shook my head to wake myself up, but it didn't work. Closing my eyes, I sighed heavily. As I began to think of the terrifying image of my father on the ground, I felt a hand on my shoulder. I jumped and opened my eyes, turning and looking up. Instead of a police officer, which I assumed it to be, there stood the tall man whom had invaded my thoughts for a while. His startling blue eyes looked down at me, and I felt them penetrating my very soul. I could feel the coolness of his skin along my throat, reaching for my heart. I exhaled sharply, staring up.

He tilted his head to the side and looked at me. "Is there something wrong, Esfir?"

At the sound of his voice, I was sent reeling. I remembered everything, being thrown from my dream-like state and began to cry. "Papa's dead," I sobbed, looking up tearily. "He's dead!"

He stared down at me, almost emotionlessly. Gently, he reached up and placed his hand on the back of my head. Soon my face was buried in his chest and I was sobbing. I reached up and gripped at his shirt, crying and wailing. I felt his hands slide over my head to the back of my neck. Another cold chill ran up my spine. I had the same chill earlier, when I had seen Papa. When I felt something evil had happened. I swallowed and turned my head down, closing my eyes and crying. I wanted all of this to end. This had to be a dream.

But as I pulled away to see them wheeling out a stretcher with a pale blue body bag on it towards the ambulance, I knew it wasn't. Carting the silver table to the back of the van, they lifted it up and pushed it inside. I felt my stomach churn and my throat open up. I stepped away, turned to the left so I wasn't facing Manuel, and vomited. This nightmare wasn't a dream. It wasn't a trick of the eye or the set of a movie. It was real. It was true.

This nightmare ... was my life.


End file.
